The corner of the garden was a bare tree
sullen empty grape vine stalks
browning lawn
wimpy broken leafed iris
Next time we go there together
there will be flowers
oak leaves the size of your hand
hollyhocks blushing and blooming
endless budding spires
What of grief you might ask
does it ever change
or does it too have its seasons
dense and ripe when it drenches you
sharper than medieval swords it pierces you
never going away it transmutes
it is an alchemy
later than you can possibly think
grief releases its thousand secrets
as it teaches your spirit to fly
#NaPoWriMo
#griefjourney
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